Iridescent
by Calloniel
Summary: "I wanted to go home too. But instead of home, I would board the train that would lead me to deaths door. And once there, I would knock and say pleasantly, with a smile on my face, 'would you like a show with your dinner tonight' Because there was only one victor in the games, and it had to be him. I wouldn't allow a world where he didn't exist." Finnick/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Life is like a picture book, I think. The words aren't quite so important, the thoughts in our head and the words that leak from our lips - they don't matter so much. It is the picture that tells the tale. Vibrant colors to express emotions, charcoal black against white for morals. The paintings deliver the message, the motif. But maybe I just look into it a bit too much.

I always wanted to make a picture book. But I never knew where to begin my story. And which story should I tell? I could paint you a picture of my life before. It was plain, dull browns and greys outlining. And after… reds. All reds, with a dash of blue. Blue like his eyes. Maybe I shouldn't make a picture book. It would either be too boring, or disturbingly violent.

But I _do_ have a story to tell. Be warned: my story isn't what I had hoped it would be. I don't end up with the guy. I don't live happily ever after. This tale does not turn out all right in the end, for anyone. My story is a dark one.

However, I think I know where to start now. I'll begin with the day of the Reaping, when my brother was sent to slaughter.

* * *

I fixed the collar of Avis's shirt, hiding the small stain that betrayed the image of neatness. His small, 12 year old hands clutched my shoulders as I bent to tie his shoes. These, too, had been scrubbed, and instead of the dull grey they usually were, they had become an off white.

"You're going to be fine," I said with false cheerfulness. "There is only one slip of paper with your name on it in that bowl." Patting his leg, I looked up into his brown eyes; the same ones that I knew were shining right back at him. A shimmering line of water fell down his cheek as he sniffled. My smile faltered, and before he could see the weakness I turned to grab the tie we had chosen the night before. "Robert Cockinfield has his name in 32 times." Avis rubbed his eyes and made a small, terrified noise. I drew the small boy to me, hugging him to my chest as he cried. "It's all right," I crooned softly. "It's okay."

I think everyone cries their first Reaping. I know I did. Back then, our roles had been reversed - me, the crying child, and Avis my supporter. He probably didn't even remember. He had turned to me, and said in the simplest voice - "See you at dinner!" And that night, we had eaten with the relief that I would live to see another year.

My father appeared in the doorway, buttoning up the sleeves of his white shirt. It was strange, seeing Robin Winters wearing something _not_ covered in coal. As a miner, the fine dust seemed to follow him everywhere, infesting our small home that lay squarely between the seam and the town. He walked with heavy footsteps, before crouching beside us to look at Avis.

"You'll do fine, son," He said in his deep, reassuring voice. "Nothing will happen to you. To _either_ of you." He stared at me as he tacked on that last bit. I'm 16, borderline 17, with just over a year until I turn of age when I will no longer be eligible for the games. It meant that I would be safe. However, it also meant that the next time a famine came around, we wouldn't be getting any tesserae. Three years ago, District 12 had one of the most severe shortages of food since… well, since a long time. That was the only time I ever had to sign up, and I ended up with my name in an extra three times.

I patted Avis on his head and he released me. "Come on, or we are gonna be late!" I chirped in a mimic of Mayoria Kipler's voice. Mayoria was our Districts escort, and an amusing one at that. She always had a little bit of a lisp, which, mixed with her Capitol accent, made her sound like a drowning rat.

Well. That's what I compared her to. I didn't actually know what a drowning rat sounded like.

My antics drew a suffocated noise from the boy's lips, a sound I recognized as a chuckle. My father put a heavy hand on his shoulder, and took the forgotten blue tie from my hands. "Come on, Avis," he said. He stood to his full height and gave me a fond look. "Get cleaned up," he murmured. "We'll meet you on the porch." He gathered Avis and ushered him out the door, leaving me empty handed and surrounded by the silent air.

I stared at the closed door for a moment before walking to my dresser and the water filled basin resting atop it. Dipping a rag into the lukewarm liquid, I pressed and rubbed at my face, trying not to feel too disgusted when it pulled away dark with dirt. In truth, I was scared out of my mind. I had less than two years left - _two years_. Which is plenty of time to go wrong. Plenty of time to be reaped. And this was only the beginning for Avis. He had always been weak, physically and mentally. Constantly afraid. He couldn't stand the sight of anyone or anything in pain. He had to leave the room whenever they showed the ruins of District 13 on the television.

He wouldn't stand a chance in the arena. I dragged the rag down my throat before rinsing it and splashing my hands. The water turned a murky color. I didn't have time to take a full on bath, but I wasn't that dirty anyhow. I left it there to soak and went to the old wooden chest at the foot of my bed. Inside laid my light green reaping dress, exactly where I left it last year. I lifted it gingerly, taking great care as I unfolded it and laid the dress on my bed. I stripped out of my pants and sweater and placed them in the chest. I unbuttoned the front of the dress just enough to slip my frame through, then buttoned it up my neck. It had a tall collar that brushed my jaw, something my teacher once told me had been considered high fashion. The sleeves ended at my wrist, and when I let the skirt fall it ended a few inches above my knees. I smoothed the creases with my hands and returned to the small mirror above my dresser.

Pale blonde hair fell down to my shoulder blades, the tips split and frayed. It was mostly straight, except for a couple of inches near end. Light brown eyes roamed around the pale face. The girl in the mirror didn't look how I felt. She looked young and brave, about to go out and meet her friends, maybe even a boy. They would go to all the shops even though they couldn't afford it and laugh. The girl looked like she smiled a lot. She looked as though she had never heard of the Reaping before.

The girl in the mirror should look scared.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to get out what few tangles I could. I only succeeded in making it frizzy. I reached into the small cup that held my meager amount of jewelry (most of it having belonged to my late mother) and smiled when my fingers brushed against a familiar artifact. It was a hairpin, made of gold wiring with different pieces of colored glass. It was made to look like a butterfly, its wings rainbows of color. The smile on my face only grew as I stroked the delicate piece. My father had bought it for my mother when they first met. Well, that's what he said, but I think it was the payment for the night they shared. I gathered a few strands of my hair and twisted it before using the pin to hold it in place. With a final judging look in the mirror, I deemed myself adequately dressed and left the room to meet my family outside.

My father and Avis stood back to back, laughing about something. I watched from the doorway, amused. My top of my little brother's head didn't even reach our fathers shoulder blades. At least he had managed to forget about the Reaping for a moment. That's more than a lot got these days. When they took notice of me, they both shared a look.

"Wren, you look…" My father started, lips forming the yearly compliment she received every reaping. _You look beautiful_.

Avis snorted, interrupting him. "You look like a _girl_," he chortled. Dad smacked the back of his head while I laughed.

"I've always looked like a girl," I said, walking on my tiptoes to the pair. "You just can't see it under all the dirt from the Hob." When I reached my little brother, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his black hair.

"Ugh, Wren," he whined, pushing at me. He was much too small for a twelve year old, and even if he had run at me full tilt I doubt I would have moved an inch. I just gave another laugh, the sound chasing away my fear. At least for the moment.

Robin sighed, but he had his own small smile. "Come on, let's go." I grinned and put my hand in his while my other arm wrapped around Avis. We hopped down the steps, our boots sending up plumes of dirt. As we did, something fell out of Avis's pocket onto the ground. He squeaked and went to pick it up, but I beat him too it. When the wooden recorder was in the palm of my hand, I gave him a look.

"Avis." He refused to look at me. "What did I tell you? Don't put it in your pocket! Mr. Everdeen worked real hard on this for you, and you treat it like trash."

My father watched on as I put my hands on my hips and Avis scuffed the ground with his shoes. Avis mumbled something incomprehensible, and I gave a sigh. Turning to the supposed parent out of the three of us, I held the small wooden recorder out to him. He obediently took it, only to put it in his own pocket. He did not seem phased at my dark look. "Tell you what," I told the downtrodden boy. "I'll stitch up a little halter for you, so you can wear it around your neck. How does that sound?" He immediately brightened, and he wrapped his small fingers around my own.

Other families, similar to ours, prepped their children with solemn expressions. Unlike us, they didn't seem to be capable of forgetting the cloud that loomed above them. They joined up with us on our trek, and soon we began a sordid mob of duly dressed people. We arrived to District 12's mediocre town square in no time at all, our arrival marked with towering lights and giant screens. I was about to separate from the boys of my family to join the other 16-year-old girls, but a small form launched at me from behind. The force of the impact almost knocked me off my feet. I twisted in the small arms that held me prisoner.

"Katniss?" I said in surprise. "What are you doing here?" Katniss Everdeen, eldest of two daughters from the aforementioned Mr. Everdeen, was a sweet girl of nine. She lived further down in the seam than my family. We knew each other from our fathers, who were both miners on the same team. I babysat the girls every once in awhile, and we had become fast friends. Kinda, anyway. Katniss was a hard girl to get to know.

The girl looked up at me with bright, intelligent eyes. "I wanted to find you." She looked at Avis, who kept glancing at her with shy eyes. "Hi, Avis."

The boy blushed and grabbed our father's hand. "Uh, D- I thin- Um, I think I'm suppose to go- over there…" He ran away as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. Robin and I shared a knowing look. Katniss, however, was clueless, and just turned her gaze to me. Disentangling myself from her, I held her at arms length.

"Well, here I am." Before I could question her further, a crudely carved wooden block was forced into my hands.

"Here," Katniss said. "I made you a horse. I know you like horses." The pride was evident in her usually bland voice. I obediently held it up for observation.

Oh. That's what it was. I gave her a practiced smile. "Aw, thanks Kat. It's great."

"No it isn't," she replied bluntly. "But I'm not that good at carving yet, so hold onto it for now. You'll get a better one later."

That managed to pull a bark of laughter from my lips. "Okay," I managed. Her blunt honesty had always been refreshing to me. I went to put it in my pocket, only to remember I was wearing a dress. "Do you think you could hold onto it for me?" I asked. "I don't have any way to carry it. You can give it to me after the Reaping." Katniss made a face at my choice of clothing, but obediently took her gift back. Someone shouted from the other side of the square, and another voice joined in. "I think your Dad is calling for you," I informed the child. She made another face, but nodded. Turning to leave, she gave me one last look.

"Don't get reaped."

The demand was met with another patient smile. "I'll try not to." Everyone tried. But there was a reason this was a game of chance. Seemingly satisfied with my answer, she ran off into the crowd, vanishing amongst the browns and greys. She was a sweet child, with a voice like honey when she sang. Her sister was adorable as well. It would be horrible when the pair were eligible for reaping.

I walked over to my designated section, obediently allowing myself to be squashed by the bodies of other girls my age. I nodded to those that bothered to note my presence. We were just sheep up for slaughter, all cornered with no idea who would be plucked from the herd. I kept my gaze straight, watching with little expression as Mayor Undersee and Mayoria Kipler chatted. Haymitch Abernathy, our single living Victor, was slumped in his seat, a bottle of something undoubtedly alcoholic in his hand.

Then the clock tower struck two, and silence fell like a blanket over the town square. Something cold gripped my heart, but I pushed away the fear. _I don't have anything to worry about. My name won't be picked. I won't be picked. I won't. I won't._

The Mayor began to read the history of Panem, of the late District 13 and how the games were put into place to keep control of the Districts. He finished by introducing Haymitch, who seemed to be asleep. When they failed to revive him, he moved onto Mayoria, who stood with a flourish. She was wearing what looked like a bed sheet that had been folded in half, a hole cut for her head, and tied with a shimmering green belt. Impossibly high shoes lifted her a foot above the ground, leaving her to tower over the stout mayor.

"Welcome," she said in a sing song voice, "to the 65 annual Hunger Games! May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Though she sounded cheerful and preppy, her face looked solemn. Well, it usually did. I hadn't seen her express any other emotion than blank sadness. She went on to speak about the honor of representing our District, and how much she just _loved_ District 12. I clenched my hands into fists. The sooner she announced the dead meat, the sooner I could go home.

Finally, she walked over to one of the two large glass bowls that contain the names of every girl and every boy. "Ladies," she said, her voice a purr, but her face maintaining its masklike features. She dipped a pale hand covered in silver rings into the bowl, rummaging about for a minutes. When she finally decided that she had the right girl, she lifted her hands and flipped open the little slip.

My heart stopped beating.

"And, the female tribute from District 12, is…" She gave a long pause for dramatic effect. The girls around me tensed as one entity. "Sorrel Rivermark!"

I couldn't keep my sigh of relief to myself as a 15-year-old girl stumbled her way to the stage, already sobbing her eyes out. My heart went out to the girl. She was small, frail. Blue eyes scanned the crowd desperately as Mayoria laid a possessive hand on her thin shoulder. Her vivid, unnaturally orange eyes seem to glow as she asked for volunteers. Silence was her only response.

With a happy chuckle, she then moved over to the other bowl. "And now, for the men!" I took a moment to consider that she said men when, in all actuality, she was looking at children. Again her hand dipped into the sea of papers. I didn't even think to pray for Avis. His name was only in there once. The chances of his name being pulled were slim to none. I let my eyes close and smiled. A true, genuine smile. _We were safe. _We would all go home, Father, Avis, and I, and I would make us some rabbit stew with the string of hares the Everdeens caught. Our two families would come together for a meal before watching the beginning of the games together. Then, I would tuck Avis into bed while the men smoked their pipes out-

"Avis Winters!"

_Crack_.

The silence this time suffocated me. The high collar of my dress seemed stupid now - how did I expect to breathe in this thing? From behind me people shuffled and moved out of the way. Shoes, once grey, now an off white, pass me by. "N… no," I choked. _I can't breathe, I can't see,_ and Avis is climbing the steps. My feet were frozen to the floor as Mayoria laid her hand on his shoulder as well. _He's crying. I know he is. He's such a wimp._ Mayoria asked for volunteers. Nobody spoke.

Except me.

"Avis?" I didn't know why his name was the only thing I can manage. There was shuffling as the girls around me averted their eyes. "S… someone!" I looked at the boys, many who I knew. I had talked to those kids, played with them. They knew Avis wouldn't survive. Why wasn't anyone saying anything? And then I was crying, shoving my way through the sea of people. I stumbled into the square and glare down the boys. They definitely weren't men. Just pathetic _children_. Their eyes were filled guilt, but they didn't do anything. From somewhere behind me, I heard my father say my name. But the sound that once could have soothed me only enraged me further. "Cowards!" I screamed at them. "Good for nothing _cowards!_" Hands gripped my elbow and jerked me roughly.

"Calm down," said the Peacekeeper, not unkindly. I think I remember him. I had probably been at the hob once or twice. Had maybe even given me a smile.

But I couldn't be calm, and I'm thrashing in his arms. Another Peacekeeper grabbed me. "Avis!" I'm screaming his name, desperate and worst of all desperate for people to see. Maybe if they saw how much I needed him, someone would step up. I saw him turn to me, I saw him run out of Mayoria's grasp and leap off the platform onto the cobblestone. He fell, but got back up and starts running to me. I didn't even have the sense of mind to worry about his bleeding knees. But another Peacekeeper grabbed him, holding him back as we reach for each other.

"Wren!" He's started screaming too.

The citizens of District 12 stood and watched.

And then the life changing words lifted out of my mouth like doves before I could stop them. "I volunteer!" And everything stood still. Crystal clear. The Mayor, who at that point, had been staring with the rest of the District, shook his head and flapped his mouth like a fish. It was Mayoria who spoke, voice as always more expressive than her face.

"You cannot volunteer for the male tribute." Disdain, a smidgen of sadness.

I panicked. "No, for the girl." Her blue eyes found my own as I spoke, and her tears seem to flow a little heavier. "I volunteer for Sorrel." I'm crying now, too. "I volunteer, please, please," and I'm begging, _pleading_ to be allowed to die in place of this scrawny child.

My father was causing a commotion behind me. I could hear his frantic cries, only muted by the pounding in my ears. I would have turned to see him. But my resolve was shaky enough without the thought of the parent I would be leaving behind. The two (conscious) people on the stage gave each other a look of confusion and questioning. Mayoria finally spoke after a pause. "Fine. Peacekeepers?" They released me and I fell on my hands and knees, struggling to breathe. A figure slammed into me, and the familiar smell of dirt and pine wrapped around me like an old friend. I held onto Avis tightly, and my heart began to calm. He was not even a hundred pounds, and I lifted him easily though I struggled to my feet. I began the long trek up to the stage, feeling the additional weight of my fathers stare.

Haymitch had awoken during the whole scene, and he watched me with bloodshot eyes. I ignored him and stood on the stage. Sorrel, the girl I had replaced, scrambled away as though I would change my mind at any second. And I wanted to. I didn't look at her. I didn't look at my District either. I _hated_ them in that moment. _Hated_ them. How could they let a 12 year old, sickly boy go fight to the death in an arena? My hands fisted into Avis's shirt.

A hand landed on my shoulder. I shrugged it off and took a step away from Mayoria. Her voice was annoyed when she asked for my name. "My name is Wren Winters." I tilted my head up and locked eyes with one of the many cameramen on the roofs. I wondered how I looked, as I stared at everyone watching, or who would be watching. Did I look strong? Or was I a weak girl, with a butterfly pin in her hair?

"Oh, siblings! This will make for an interesting games this year!" Mayoria cheered. That time, when she put her hand on my shoulder, her nails dug in, keeping me in place. They held me like fangs as the Mayor managed to stumble his way through the required reading of the Treaty of Treason. Then we were surrounded by Peacekeepers, one of them I recognize as the man who tried to restrain me earlier. I turned my back on my District and walked into the Justice building. I stopped crying. I was done.

* * *

Hello, this is Calloniel~ Welcome to my first attempt at a Hunger Games story, starring my OC(s) Wren Winters and Avis Winters. The pairing is Finnick/OC with a bit of an age bump, but it is also Annie/Finnick shipper safe. Meaning that, while there will be some romance, they (being Finnick and Wren) don't end up together. This is simply, as my good friend put it, "_it's about the romance that could have happened, but didn't have the chance to._"

I hope you enjoy, and if you did, please let me know! And if you didn't, please offer some criticism in a nice fashion. I'm always looking for the chance to improve.

Lotsa love,

Calloniel


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

They didn't separate us. Something I was immensely grateful for. It also seemed to make sense. We were siblings. The only person who would be visiting us would be our father. So I sat with Avis curled up beside me. He was so quiet I thought he had fallen asleep. After being escorted into one of the fanciest rooms I had ever seen, we had been told to wait. People would come to see us. Last words and all.

But I was surprised when a thin, frail woman came through the door. Hanging onto her skirts… was Sorrel. The girl I replaced. I felt thin fingers wrap tightly around me and I knew Avis was awake. I waited for them to speak because I had nothing to say to them. Well, nothing kind, anyway.

The elderly lady began to make gestures with her hands, moving her fingers rapidly. My eyebrows knitted together. The movements had no meaning to me, but Sorrel seemed to understand. "Thank you," she translated, "for saving my grandchild. I owe you a great debt." Sorrel didn't look pleased at that, which I could understand. Debts were dark things in the seam. I couldn't read much else off her young face except extreme displeasure. She moved to leave, only to frown when her grandmother approached me. Her wrinkled hands pressed against my cheeks and tilted my face up for her examination. Then she pressed her chapped lips to my forehead. I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of the seam- dirt and wood smoke. It smelled like home.

Then they were gone and I was left with my thoughts. I didn't want them to thank me. I was going to die in another child's place. I was going to _die_. _I was going to die._

My father came in next, eyes red-rimmed and clothes mussed. Avis jerked into motion, launching himself away from me and into Dads outstretched arms. I watched from my seat, hands folded compliantly in my lap. And Robin Winters began to openly sob, clutching his adopted son to him.

There are no words for a father's grief, and I won't do the injustice of trying to explain it. I had seen something vaguely similar when he heard that my mother had died in her cell so many years ago. And I saw it again as he clutched the son that was not his blood. I tried to stop my own tears as the man, who I always thought to be the strongest of us, broke down before me. What had I done? Instead of only losing one child, now he would probably lose both.

Father released Avis after a few moments, holding him out at arms length. Robin smiled and brushed his tears away. "Come on now," he said softly. "You… you'll be alright. Wren will protect you." His eyes found mine and it took everything I had to be strong, to not throw myself at him as well. _I was going to die._ "Wren will protect you." Firmer, more convinced.

I looked at him. _Really_ looked at him. When he left the Justice building, he would go home and watch the program of the reapings, and he would cry. I wanted to go home too. I would watch the slaughter of hundreds if I could go home. But instead of home, I would board the train that would lead me to deaths door. And once there, I would knock and say pleasantly, with a smile on my face, 'would you like a show with your dinner tonight?' Because there was only one victor in the games, and I had to make sure it was Avis. It had to be him. I wouldn't allow a world where he didn't exist.

My father rose to his feet and stood in front of me. We had a silent conversation, a silent goodbye. Because he knew that I would walk through fire for Avis, and this was the last time I would see him. He stroked my cheek and, like the old woman before him, kissed my forehead. This time the tears came, and they didn't stop. "D-Dad," I whispered, clutching him to me like a lifeline.

His arms, so strong, wrapped around me and his face pressed into my hair. "If we meet again, then I will be glad," he whispered. The words, so final, filled my head with sorrow.

But I replied. "And if we don't, please don't be sad."

Then the Peacekeepers came, and the last image I had of my father was him reaching for us, fingers outstretched and eyes desperate.

No one else came to visit us. So Avis and I were ushered out of the building and into the open air. Cameras and the people running them pressed against us. I held tightly to my brother, giving my best glare at anyone who came too close. If they expected me to smile and wave at them, then they had another thing coming. The screens around us, once filled with images of the Capitol, now focused on us, two kids from District 12. I judged Avis from the cameras perspective. He looked terrified, and was clinging to me like a leech. In my minds eye the other Tributes leered at him, grins stretching their faces at the prospect of easy prey. They would see his weakness and target him. So I had to look strong.

When I glanced at my own image, I was surprised. Even pleased. I… looked fierce. Royal and uncaring. It was the opposite of how I usually was - I tried to be friends with everyone. Generally, I was a nice and easygoing person. Compassionate. Caring. And the only part of the screen that showed a micro portion of that was how tight I was holding Avis to me. But I looked like I was made of ice. That was what I thought until I saw my eyes.

I wasn't one to hold grudges or to really _hate_ someone. But there, showed to everyone in Panem, was a rage in my eyes that I had never seen before. It was a fire, fanned by circumstances. I looked like a wild wolf that had been cornered by her own pack, and every glance into the cameras showed that.

We were loaded onto the train like cows for slaughter. Mayoria greeted us just inside the door, voice full of cheer. Avis and I had separate rooms on the train, each supplied with its own changing room and bathroom. Despite my impending doom, I couldn't help but keep my jaw from dropping. It was _huge_, with a tub _and_ a shower! The mirrors were as tall as I was long and surrounding me with projections of myself.

I think my awe of such Capitol appliances helped endear Mayoria to me, because she took great pleasure in explaining all the gadgets and gizmos. She only stopped when Avis gave a yawn, still pressed against my side.

"Aw," she tutted. "Poor dear. He must be exhausted! Let's take him to his room and-"

"No!" I interjected, a little too loudly, a little too quickly. She paused. "He can stay here. Please?" I tacked on that last bit. Her constantly frozen face stared me down. I stared back. "Please?"

After a long moment she sighed. "Fine," Mayoria grumbled. She turned to walk out of the room, wobbling on her ridiculously tall shoes. "Dinner is in an hour or two, and I'll come to get you. You better be awake!" The door shut behind her with a click.

I sighed in relief before sweeping Avis up into my arms and taking him to the giant bed. He didn't say a word as I tucked him in, pulling and wrapping the sheets around him. "I'm going to take a shower, I think." I _really_ wanted to play with it. "You going to be okay?" Avis stared at me blankly before nodding and rolling into a little ball. His black hair was a stark contrast to the white of the sheets he encased himself in. Half of me wanted to go play with the Capitol toys, but I couldn't just leave him like this.

So I sighed and sat on the bed, unlacing my boots before crawling in beside him. Immediately he burrowed against me, his head pressed against my chest. Stroking his hair, I began to hum a tune Mr. Everdeen had taught me to help lull his girls to sleep. "_Deep in the meadow, under the willow…_"

* * *

"Wren Winters, was it?" Haymitch drawled, taking a long sip from his glass. I nodded politely, trying to resist the violent thoughts and urges he provoked. We were barely 15 minutes into dinner and already I wanted to throw something at his head. But I settled for taking another bite of my fish, the flavors dancing on my tongue.

Avis, unlike me, was absolutely enamored with the drunk. "And _I'm_ Avis," he chirped, taking a huge bite of pudding. At least, I think it was pudding. The 12 year old was having a little too much fun with the Capitol food, and had piled his plate high with strange concoctions. Mayoria and I had both warned him that his stomach might not be able to handle the sudden change in diet (well, those were her words). But he had pointedly ignored us, and at that point began using his hands. We had given up when he borderline face planted into the mush.

The man didn't give the boy a second glance, his eyes on me. "Wren," he repeated, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. If my math was correct (and it usually was), then he was about 31 years old. However, he looked much older. The curly dark hair was unwashed and greasy, his grey eyes bloodshot and red rimmed. He might have been good looking once upon a time, but not anymore. He had succumbed to the drink. I met his judgmental stare with one of my own.

Avis seemed unaware of the tension between our mentor and I and turned to Mayoria for conversation. Despite my first impression of her, she seemed to genuinely _like_ my brother. I wasn't too surprised actually, thinking back. Everyone loved Avis. At least, I thought they did. If they had, then wouldn't have let him be reaped. Her voice rose and fell in her own stream of consciousness as they conversed about… something.

"You'll die, you know."

The chatter stopped. Haymitch pretended not to notice three pairs of eyes locked on him, seemingly more interested in the fact his glass was empty. He continued on as he reached to pour himself some more liquor. "He's too little, too weak. He'd only slow you down. But seeing how you're determined to stick with him, you're dead too." A sip of his poison. "You'll both be dead before the first night. And I rather not waste time on dead meat."

Mayoria's silverware fell to her plate. "Haymitch!"

My own knife and fork were clenched in tight fists. Familiar anger bubbled in my stomach, red and boiling, and I would have given anything to be able to reach across the table and stab him in the eye. Instead, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath through my nose. "It's fine," I managed. The eyes all switched to me as I released the culinary one finger at a time. "I don't think you would be of much help to us anyway."

Haymitch raised a brow challengingly. "And what makes you say that?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "Well, you're tributes don't have a very high survival rate. I wonder whose fault that is?" A low blow, but he was asking for it. The reaction is immediate - his glass plonked to the table, the neon liquid seeping into the tablecloth. His eyes found mine, and I hardened my heart against the pained look.

No one said anything for a minute or two as we stared, Tribute and Victor. My hands clenched again without my notice and I scrapped my chair back to stand. "You won't help, I get it," I snarled, unable to keep the bite from my words. "Why, when I don't plan on going home anyway?" Silence. "But so help me, Avis is going to walk out of that arena with or without your help." And before I could start crying I left, hands aching at my sides.

Avis cried out after me. "Wren! Wait!" Half of me wanted to hold him close and tell him everything was fine. But my brain and heart were shattering and I needed to get myself under control. I wouldn't let him see me like this - the after effects of my decision.

Because I wanted to live. I wanted to go home too, dammit!

I shut the door of my room just as his small body slammed against it. "I'm okay, Avis," I managed. Even when I was on the brink, I had to comfort him. Always him, never me. _Always Avis, and never Wren._ I squeezed my eyes shut. "I just… I need a minute, okay?"

"But, Wren-"

"_Please!_" My voice was breathless. There was no response, but I knew he was still behind the door, waiting. I put my back to the steel and slid to the floor, struggling to control my breathing. _I'm going to die._ _I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodie-_

Before the thought could grip me completely, I packed all the emotions and streams of anger into a box and bolted it shut. Then I put that box into another box, and then that one into another, so on and so forth until the air came easily to my lungs. I sat there, greedily sucking in oxygen. When I felt I could face the world again, I stood and opened the door.

Sure enough, Avis stood there with tears in his brown eyes. His arms were around my waist and his face buried into my stomach before I could say a word. I ran my fingers through his hair, my nails lightly scratching his scalp. "I'm okay," I said quietly, repetitively. I wasn't sure who I was comforting at this point.

Mayoria tiptoed down the hall a minute later. For the first time, I wanted to see her expression. What did she think about what I said? I had never intentionally hurt someone with my words before. But as always, it was like looking at a mask as she said, "We are going to watch the Reapings." It was a command, but hesitant. Room for maneuver.

"We'll be there," I replied. Pushing Avis away, I held him at arms length. "You ready?"

He nodded after looking at me for a long moment, and we followed Mayoria down the length of the train. The room she took us to was the size of our home, with rows of large plush chairs in a Capitol red color. A screen took up the length of the wall, from the floor to the ceiling. To my surprise, Haymitch was seated smack dot in the middle, his frame taking up the center seat. He had replaced the glass he dropped with the actual bottle, which had significantly shrunk in substance since I last saw it. Looking slightly disgusted, Mayoria took the seat on his left. I took the remaining seat on the right. Avis, put out that he couldn't sit next to his mentor, decided to sit on the floor between us.

"Any reason you're here?" I asked innocently. I wondered if he would snap at me for what I said. It wouldn't surprise me.

Haymitch snorted and lifted the remote, the screen flickering to life. "Just wanted to make bets on who's gonna kill you brats," He drawled.

I frowned, and it took me a minute to tell if he was serious or not. His own grey eyes met mine before they went back the screen with a huff._ Oh_. And then I smiled. "Jerk."

"Whore."

"Ugly bastard."

"Fat bitch."

Mayoria jumped in before our insults could get more creative. "Watch your mouth! There's a child present!" Haymitch and I shrank under her state, sliding lower in our seats.

"Oh, I've heard worse," piped in Avis. "Like cu-"

I slapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue. "Do you _want_ the wrath of Mayoria?" He shook his head mutely, the prospect of the expressionless escort raging at him enough to keep the bad words in his mouth. I released him as the seal of Panem lit the screen and we all hushed.

It started, as usual, with District 1, where both the boy and girl volunteered. They were tall, strong, and beautiful. Typical of the District of luxury.

District 2 was next, and once again the kids were replaced with volunteers. They looked… lethal. Intimidating. But they both smiled and waved at the cameras like they were born to.

Then came District 3, which was boring. Nothing very exciting happened. Despite being one of the wealthier districts, they weren't often a part of the Career pack.

However, the reaping of District 4 quickly made up for that. The girl was called first, Chive, I think her name was, before the male escort pulled a ticket from the boys bowl. "Finnick Odair!" He called, and the camera panned to one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen. He had soft bronze colored hair that swept into his eyes, which were a blue-green mixture I had never seen before. There was just a moment where his expression was frozen before he gave a broad smile. The commentators went wild.

"What a handsome boy!" One gushed, her excitement nearly tangible.

Her co-host agreed with an enthusiastic nod. "If looks alone could win the games, then we have a winner right here! Someone get the crown!"

"He'll have no problem getting sponsors, that's for sure."

Haymitch nodded from beside me. "I bet," he said suddenly, "that's he's gonna be the one to end it." A pause. "If only because of sponsors." The bottle was mostly empty now, but he pulled another from under his seat and popped it open.

I just looked back to the screen. They moved on through the next districts with the same ease, making jokes and comments all the while. I noticed when we got to District 9, however, that so far all the tributes had been at least 15. It would make sense, seeing how the older you are the more times your name is put into the drawings. But if this kept up, Avis would be the youngest boy in the arena. That wouldn't be good.

We patiently sat all the way to the final Reaping - _our_ reaping. And it seemed just like every other reaping until Avis was called. I had been so shocked that I hadn't watched him as he approached the stage, and I couldn't help but be proud of him as I watched now. His head was held up, and even though he couldn't hide the racking tremors or the fear in his eyes, he didn't cry as I had expected.

But then I did, stumbling through the crowd, screaming at my District. The commentators were surprisingly silent as they watched the Peacekeepers step onto the scene. "Looks like we got another cra-" The man started before I said, loud and clear, 'I volunteer!'

More silence except for the woman's teary exclamation as Avis and I collided with each other, and I carried the both of us back to the stage. I cocked my head to the side, trying to figure out how I could carry such an expression of _hatred_ on my face. There was no fear in my eyes, only a burning anger as I stared straight back at me. Now that I was out of the heat of the moment, I couldn't understand it.

"Wait, are-are they siblings?" The woman asked.

"I think they are! Oh, what a great games these are going to be! Look at her face - I've never seen someone who looks more protective, have you?"

Their exclamations on my apparent fierceness made my eyebrows go up, and their claims only escalated as they showed the film of us climbing aboard the train. I looked like one of the District 2 girls - brave, lethal. And it was strange seeing myself in that light. I wasn't sure if I liked it or not.

As the program came to a close, Haymitch stood and stretched. "Well, you guys are screwed," was his wise advice before he walked out of the room. Avis leaned against my leg and gave a wide yawn. His nap didn't seem to have helped him all that much.

Mayoria sighed, but it was a happy, content one. "Time for bed!" She clapped her hands together, voice expressing what her face didn't. Avis stumbled to his feet, the yawn still splitting his face. The Escort ushered him away, determined to make him do all the basic hygienic rituals before he fell asleep. Knowing the boy, he probably enjoyed the attention, though he protested quite vocally.

I stayed in my seat until the clack of the women's shoes vanished into the air. Then I picked up the remote, tongue sticking out the side of my mouth as I pressed buttons. I succeeded in turning it on, and gave a wide grin when I managed to rewind. The film rolled backwards through my reaping, undoing what had been done, then back through District 9, to District 8, all the way to the beginning of the District 4 Reapings.

As the girl was called up, I tried to find the male tribute in the crowd. When the camera panned out to scan all the kids, I caught sight of his unique features. Then the escort called out his name, and it zoomed in on his face. I paused the film.

Finnick looked… calm. But scared at the same time. Though his handsome face was still, not a ripple of emotion, his blue-green eyes were storming. I studied his face, trying to control my heartbeat. He was one of the most naturally beautiful people I had ever seen, and even I could not escape the affects his looks provoked. Even though he was going to be in the arena with me.

A mother's wisdom rung in my ears. _Don't trust a pretty face._

"I won't," I whispered, curling up into a smaller ball in my chair. "I won't."

The program resumed. Finnick smiled into the camera and gave a wink.

* * *

Hey guys, thanks for the reviews and the alerts and favs! I'm glad you guys like this. I hope it is a bit different from other Hunger Games stories but... we'll see how it goes.

Lotsa Love,

Calloniel


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

I finally got my shower the next morning. I stood under the hot spray for at least an hour, scrubbing my skin red with the colorful soaps. Then I amused myself by making bubbles with my hands and blowing them into the air. A brief moment of respite from the stress that occured when one contemplated their impending doom. It was only when Mayoria came knocking, Avis at her heels, that I exited. I was sad until I was wrapped in the softest towel I had ever had the pleasure of touching. I quickly dressed in a pair of soft blue pants and a matching blue shirt, taking just a moment to spin my butterfly pin into my hair before setting out to fill my stomach.

Avis had taken a shower as well, apparently, if his newly fluffed hair was anything to go by. He stabbed at his eggs, lines creasing his young face. The boy never liked being clean, unlike myself. I walked behind him and placed a kiss on his head before taking a seat. Mayoria gave me a cheerful hello, which I returned as I filled my plate.

"I'm so excited to be going home," Mayoria sighed, voice full of longing.

I blinked at her, confused. "Home?"

"The Capitol!" This time her sigh was exasperated. "We will arrive in an hour or so. Didn't you know?"

"Oh." I answered lamely. "I didn't." Suddenly I was feeling the urge to stab my eggs as well. But I forced myself to lift the fork to my mouth, swallowing the eggs quietly. I was another step closer to my death. Fantastic. My appetite vanished, but I mechanically swallowed the rest of the eggs and a few pieces of fruit. The thought of starving in the arena helped a bit.

When I felt that I had stomached all I could, I put down my silverware and turned to Mayoria. "So, what's going to happen when we reach the Capitol?"

The Escort seemed ridiculously pleased at my curiosity. "Well, when we arrive, you two will be escorted to the Remake center, where you will meet your stylist! Then they'll get you all dolled up for the opening ceremony."

I blanched. "So soon?"

"Of course!" She chirped. Her glass of pumpkin juice (well, that's what I assumed it was) was drained before she continued. "Things move quite fast there. But Haymitch has been corresponding with your two's stylists all night. I can't wait to see what they came up with!" Another sigh. She sighed too much.

Avis' hand found my own beneath the table, and I gave it a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry," I told him, giving my best smile. "We'll be alright. It's just a bunch of people making us look pretty. That shouldn't be hard, right?" The 12 year old gave a snort, but didn't respond. He wasn't looking forward to meeting his stylist, that much I could tell. If he didn't like being clean, why would he enjoy being 'dolled' up?

Without warning the door slammed open, the usually disheveled form of Haymitch stumbling in. "Avis!" He called. "I need you!"

The boy jumped up eagerly, almost knocking over his chair. "Are you going to mentor me?" He asked eagerly.

I gave a snort as the drunkard blinked for a moment before shaking his head. "Sure, why not. We need to have a little chat." He came forward and grabbed onto the back of the boys shirt, much to my displeasure.

"Be gentle with him!" I called to their retreating form. Haymitch just waved a hand dismissively while Avis shot me a huge grin. Again the door slammed. Mayoria sighed.

_That's it._

I left as well, heading through the cars to the back of the train. The caboose (if it could still be called that) was the smallest car. Even then it was bigger than my house. I made my way into the farthest corner and curled up there. I wasn't ready for this. I thought we would have more time on the train… at the reaping… I just thought there would be more time. My breath came heavily through my nose and I pressed a fist to my forehead.

I don't know how long I sat there, in clothes that weren't mine in a place that reeked of the rich. But soon enough a roar began to build. I closed my eyes as the cries grew louder and louder. They only opened when silence reigned once more.

* * *

We didn't see any of the other tributes as we were escorted into separate rooms. Avis shot me a terrified look before the door closed behind me. The Peacekeepers I was with delivered me like a pack into a room containing three… very… _unique_ people.

My team consisted of one boy and two girls, whom were twins. "Hello!" They chorused, black eyes, dull despite the evident excitement in their voices. "We're Savera and Eunia!" I couldn't tell who was who, and they didn't bother telling me. Both were exactly the same from their purple hair to their neon green eyebrows.

The man gave a pointy smile with filed down teeth. "I'm Lovage. Come with us, and we'll get you ready to meet your stylist." He had sky blue hair and gold slitted eyes that were outlined in hot pink.

Savera and Eunia came forward and gripped me by the arms, leading me towards the table at the center of the room. Lovage followed, hands busy examining my hair. I opened my mouth to object when he took out my hair pin and carelessly tossed it aside, but I managed to keep control of my tongue. He tsked and made comments to the women, who nodded and gave their own criticisms of my body. I just gulped, and tried not to feel too violated when they stripped me down.

However, the experience wasn't as bad as it could have been. They were kind, and often asked if anything they did hurt or if I was uncomfortable. Other than that and the occasional asking for a tool, it was silent. Savera and Eunia focused on removing all the hair from my legs and arms while Lovage shaped my eyebrows. After that, all three scrubbed me from head to toe until my skin glowed and I smelled like flowers. When Lovage started to work on cutting the dead ends and curling my hair, the twins took my hands and feet and began filing them before painting them a coal black. I took it all in stride without complaint. I just remembered what the sponsors said about Finnick - if I let them mold me into their vision of beauty, then I could get more sponsors. Which, in turn, meant that Avis had a better chance of survival.

It all came back to Avis.

Lovage ran his hands through my tousled hair one last time before taking a step back. "Much better," He said, seemingly pleased with his work. The girls, both finished with my hands and feet, gave me a pat on the back.

"Good luck, Wren," They chorused with soft smiles before taking their leave, hands clasped together. Lovage followed them out, leaving me with one last sharks grin before the door shut behind them.

Left feeling lonely and anxious, I kicked my legs back and forth from my seat on the table, dressed in nothing but the robe they had granted me. Luckily I didn't have to wait long for my stylist to arrive, and I stood as he walked in through the door.

My first thought was about how alarmingly overweight he was. Dressed in a skin tight red jumpsuit, there wasn't much that he left to the imagination. He had black hair that was gelled back against his skull and a trimmed goatee. However, any attention I had left over was spent on watching the fat on his stomach roll with each step.

I managed to avert my gaze and caught sight of an uninspiring figure just behind him. Taller, cleaner, neater. Black dress shirt untucked with black pants. He wore an equally black coat that went to mid calf, exposing the shiny dress shoes he wore. Long brown hair was styled to look wild and untamed. In his arms he held a black bag that looked almost as long as he was tall. He looked young, maybe in his mid-twenties. Any other occasion and I would have been intimidated by him. But his green eyes, which were outlined in a shiny gold, were kind and looked me over without that 'slab of meat' expression.

The larger man took up most of my vision as he stepped in front of me. "Hello," he said, voice disturbingly sweet with his Capitol accent and unnaturally high pitch. "I am Ashby, your stylist." I opened my mouth to introduce myself, as common courtesy (even though I was sure he already knew who I was - duh) but he waved a hand in front of my face. "Don't say anything, I _hate_ tribute drabble. Cinna!" The man with the green eyes stood at attention. "Disrobe her. I don't want any of that outside filth touching me."

I bristled at the blatant insult. Outside filth? I was just scrubbed from head to toe! If there was any speck of dirt on me left from District 12, I would be surprised. Soft hands on my shoulders tugged gently on my robe. "May I?" Cinna asked, smiling down at me. I hesitated before nodding, letting the flimsy material come away with his hands. He encouraged me to stand and I did, arms crossed against my chest to preserve some of my modesty.

Ashby clucked in disapproval. I forced my arms down, feeling humiliated. It was a vulnerability I wasn't use to and never wanted to be use to. My stylist circled me like a bird of prey, mumbling to himself every once in a while. He refused to touch me still and I was suddenly glad. I didn't want him to. After another circle and a heavy sigh, Ashby snapped his fingers. "Cinna." The robe was back on my shoulders and I clutched it to me.

The man whispered something into Cinna's ear before walking away. Leaving, I realized. "Wait-" I started, panicked. Where was he going? Wasn't he suppose to get me ready for the parade? I mean, I didn't expect much, but I needed something, I needed his help.

"Don't worry," Cinna said with a smile. He leaned back against the table I had been previously sitting on. "He's probably off to work on his own parade outfit."

"But what about-"

He stopped me with a finger to my lips and a mischievous wink. "I'll take care of you. Come with me." Cinna took my hand and took us into another room. It looked similar to my bathroom on the train, but bigger. He sat me down on a stool in front of a mirror surrounded by lights. They went on automatically, almost blinding me in their intensity. Cinna began gathering brushes and palettes of colors, humming some sort of tune all the while. "Close your eyes," he ordered. I obeyed. The fine hairs of his tools brushed my face, the skin of my eyelids and my cheeks. After an indeterminable amount of time he instructed me to open my eyes. I did to see an entirely new face staring back at me.

I was naturally pale, but through some trick of magic I looked like a ghost. A subtle shimmer made my skin glow in the light. My eyes had been outlined in red and black with my eyelid colored to fade to a dark, shadowy color. My lips had been painted a blood red, making them look full and sexy. A lot of… 'woman' back at home painted their lips like this for work. That thought put a damper on the image I had in mind with my new look, but the overall effect… "Wow," I whispered, reaching one hand up to poke my cheek. I couldn't believe that the girl in the mirror was really me.

Cinna had moved onto my hair, a bottle of something in his hands. He sprayed it on his palms and rubbed his hands together before running them through my hair. When he pulled away the pale blond locks were streaked with a shiny black. "Lovage did your hair?" He commented, twisting one of the curls lazily with his finger. I nodded, still enraptured with my appearance. I didn't even know that makeup could do this to a person! Cinna just smiled at me. "He did a good job. I'll have to let him know. Now, up! Time to put on your dress."

I complied, fingers playing with the hem of my robe. He went to the bag he had walked in with earlier and unzipped it, pulling out a black dress. When he told me to I held up my arms and the world was engulfed in darkness. The fabric slid over my skin like water and fit me better than anything I had ever known. When I opened my eyes to look in the mirror I had to gasp.

My theme appeared to be dark in color, because as I said it was a black dress. But it wasn't just that. Tiny diamonds of obsidian were painstakingly sewn into the fabric, making it shimmer whenever a speck of light hit me. It was skin tight, hugging my curves. Similar to my reaping dress it had a high collar which hugged my neck. It only had one sleeve, which ended in a point at my middle finger. My other arm and shoulder was bare as well as a stripe down my side. On both sides the skirt split at my hip, exposing my legs. I had no shoes, which I didn't really mind. Though I was relatively confident that I could walk in heels, I prefered not to.

Cinna circled me again, adjusting the fabric occasionally, but otherwise seemed pleased. "Let me add just one thing… I'm sure Haymitch won't mind," he murmured to himself, and went digging through a pocket in the sleeve that had held the dress. Eventually he held up a clear box triumphantly and grabbed a brush. He drenched it in water before running it along my bare arm. Then he opened the box, which was full of seemingly extra stones of obsidian. Cinna began applying them delicately in a unique pattern on my skin, then putting a few around my eyes. The end result was beautiful.

I looked beautiful.

Again he stepped back before giving me a thumbs up. "Looking good!" he said cheerfully. "Now, we have a crown of sorts for you, however Haymitch is going to decide if he rather you wear it or your brother. I'll bring it along just in case." I nodded, though I didn't really understand. As great as this was, shouldn't I be wearing a miners outfit or something? Hell, I half expected to be naked. But I didn't understand what this had to do with my District.

He didn't explain it to me, just held out his arm expectantly. After another glance in the mirror I took it, walking with him through another door on the other side of the room where me and Avis had been separated. Haymitch and Ashby were over by the refreshments table, chatting about the most potent liquor no doubt. Mayoria hovered behind my Mentor, her own glass of liquid in hand. I found Avis being fussed over by his team, a trio of outrageously dressed individuals while two fashionably dressed woman stood on the side observing. Unlike me he was dressed in all white with a simple set of pants and shirt. However, our stylists saw fit to not give us any shoes. He had no makeup that I could see, but I did notice that his skin seemed to glow and he looked cleaner than I had ever seen him before. I gave a little squeak and he caught sight of me and held out my arms to him. With his own grin he escaped his team to wrap his arms around my waist. I laughed as I held him tight to me.

"Looking fabulous, Mr. Winters," I teased.

He turned his face up, tilting his head to the side as he scrutinized me. "Eh, you look okay." My expression twisted into something resembling a grimace and pride.

"I look nothing like myself."

"That's okay, I don't look like myself either. I'm so… _clean_."

That dragged a laugh from my lips. "It's a good look for you." The two woman, who I assumed were his stylists, approached and introduced themselves as Julian ("Just Jewls," she purred) and Portia. Mayoria joined them with a cheerful chirp. They quickly began complimenting and praising my dress and makeup and Ashby's wondrous work. Cinna made a face at Portia, who returned the expression, something that piqued my interest. As my stylist began to babble incoherently under Julian and Mayorias praise, I wondered _who _exactly styled our outfits.

A long siren started for only a second, causing me to jump. An announcer came on, calling all Tributes to descend to the lower levels of the remake center for the parade. Haymitch made a loud noise before clapping his hands together. "Alright, folks, lets get this train going," he drawled, ushering us towards the elevator. I held Avis' hand tight as all 12 of us squeezed into the elevator. It wasn't too tight of a fit, actually, seeing the massive size of the thing.

Avis, of course, wanted to push the button. And it was in that moment I realized that he had his whole team wrapped around his little finger. I watched, open mouthed, as his team fussed and cooed over him. Noticing my look, he gave me a smug smirk. I rolled my eyes.

The elevator opened to a scene that could only be called organized chaos. Stylists, Mentors, Escorts and Tributes huddled by their designated chariots, doing last minute fixes and changes to outfits and game plans. Our huge party ambled over to our own chariot. And that is where Avis and I screeched to a halt.

The chariot itself seemed pretty normal - no, what had us practically drooling ourselves a river were the four midnight colored friesians that were hitched to it. They had curled manes that fell to their chest and large, kind eyes. Their ears flickered with every sound but they remained immobile except for the occasional shift of weight from one leg to another. Together we approached them with baited breath, hands outstretched to pet them.

For as long as I can remember, Avis and I had loved horses. There weren't many of them in District 12 if there were any at all. If there was any part of the games that we liked and willingly watched, it was watching the horses. Seeing such a beautiful creature in the flesh was… fantastic. Amazing. And any and all synonymous words.

The creature whinnied as I scratched its muscled neck, but leaned into the touch when I hesitated. I laughed, probably a bit too loudly, and used my other hand to play with its mane. It was coarse but at the same time unbelievably soft. I just wanted to rub my face in it, but I knew Cinna would be upset if I messed up my makeup. "Look, Avis," I whispered. My gaze found him with the horse next to me, his arms outstretched and attempting to enfold the giant in a hug. The horse didn't even move, content to stand there lazily. My brother looked like he was saying something, but before I could comment, a tingle made its way up my spine. Out of habit I turned, one hand resting on the horses muzzle as I gazed about.

I found him immediately. His bronze hair was styled in waves and his eyes outlined in a shocking green. His torso was exposed while a series of nets draped about his waist covered anything… unseemly. Blue and green scales varied on his chest and shoulders. On his feet were leather sandals that laced up to his knees. Finnick was standing similarly to me, one hand on the nose of a pure white horse with a cropped mane. Our eyes met in the most cliche fashion, and before I could remember that he was _going to be attempting to kill me in however many days_, I gave him a friendly smile. It was habit, I suppose. I was a relatively friendly girl in my district, and it was a smile I would give any stranger I came across. The expression seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised me. My hand slapped over my mouth, eyes wide, and I whirled away. I scolded myself furiously in my head, glad for the makeup that covered my cheeks. He was probably going to skewer me in the arena now. I was doomed.

However, if I was honest with myself, I wouldn't mind being doomed by someone so ridiculously attractive. I peeked one more look through my fingers. He was grinning at me stupidly, leaning against his horse with his arms crossed against his chest. I turned away. Cocky bastard.

Haymitch was hovering with Mayoria when I stalked up to him. I put my hands on my hips. "Alright, what's the plan?" I asked brusquely. He blinked at me, jaw flapping about like a fish, which I ignored.

"Damn, you look-" He started, only to stop and shake his head. "Nevermind. It'll do. Avis!" The boy trotted over, thankfully not covered in dark horse hair. Which was surprising. There must have been something in the fabric. "Alright, hop on up you two. Avis, in the front, Wren, stand behind him. No, no, _behind_ him - there you go." We obeyed and adjusted ourselves to his specifications. I dropped my arms around my brothers shoulders. Our mentor walked in front of us, leaning over the back of one of the horses. "Perfect." But after a moment he frowned. "No, no."

He turned to Portia, who stood with Julian and her team. "You have the white crown? I want it." Then he switched to Ashby and my team. "We won't be needing hers. Just his." My stylist made a face, but nodded his head. I stepped back off the chariot to let Julian stand in my place. She lifted a circular crown made of ivory atop his head, adjusting his hair slightly. The crown itself was simple, not very tall, with arches and small diamonds.

Julian stepped back, giving a smile. "You look brilliant," she complimented. I glowed under her praise while Avis gave a broad grin.

"I'm the King of all the Districts!"

I gave a snort while his prep team laughed like he had told the funniest joke in the world. "Come on," I hummed, moving him back into place. Up ahead, the District 1 chariot began to pull forward into the light. Haymitch gave us both one last look.

"Alright, you remember your roles?" Avis nodded, but I floundered.

"What roles?" I demanded.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "You just keep do what you have been doing," he ordered. "It's Avis I'm worried about."

"Don't worry," the boy said with a wink. "I got it all under control."

Well, that was comforting. _Not_. Then our horses were moving, and to my horror they didn't seem to be quite so calm anymore. The friesians snorted and whinnied, nipping at each other as they pranced without rhythm. They looked wild and untamed as they whipped their heads about. Our team shouted praise behind us, and suddenly we were bathed in light.

In a long row, the chariots were obediently being pulled along in an orderly fashion. On either side were stands filled to the brim with crying and screaming Capitol citizens. I pulled Avis to me on instinct, gaze cold as I stared at them all. Despite the earlier laughs and light atmosphere, it all came back to me how much I _despised_ these people. Our suffering was their enjoyment. Our embarrassment was the equivalent to hour long discussions and debates over dinner. Our lives and deaths laid out for their viewing pleasure.

Unlike the other tributes horses, ours seemed determined to appear as wild as possible, something that frightened me to no end. My grip on Avis must have been suffocating as I watched the horses pound the earth with their hooves or paw at the air anxiously. What was _wrong_ with them? I looked down at Avis to see if he was okay only to see him… holding the reins? I struggled with the confusion that must have shown on my face, trying to keep it a mask. _Don't let them see your fear. You're cold as ice, Wren, _I told myself. _Cold as ice._

To my surprise, it was our name the crowd was screaming. Though I couldn't understand why. I looked to one of the giant screens above the stands and started. _Oh_, I thought lamely. _Now I get it._

If I was dark, then Avis was light. By ourselves we were remarkable, yes, but together… the image was completed. He looked like something _pure_ and _good_. His grip on the reigns gave the illusion of power over the beasts that pulled us. All in all, he was… untainted. And I was. He was the king, I was the knight. He was light, I was dark. Opposites, but still so close together. _Pretty poetic, Haymitch_, I mused.

It came clear to me then, my 'role'. I was his guardian. He was my prince, my light. And I would protect him from everything the Capitol represented. I could do this.

I draped myself over him, one black painted fingernail running down his cheek. I didn't give the crowd a second glance, focusing solely on Avis. And apparently this was good, seeing how the crowd started screaming. Maybe this was just your typical case of reverse psychology, but it seemed the less attention I paid to the adoring crowd, the more frantic they became.

Avis cocked his head to the side in a practiced move and gave the audience his cutest smile. They cried his name, fawning over him. However, he trembled against me and I pulled him closer, pressing our cheeks together. I whispered comforts in his ear. Pride welled up in my chest for how strong he was. Again the cheering increased.

Our horses pulled us to our place in the half circle surrounding President Snows balcony. They reared up, hooves pawing at the air. Despite the fact their unusual behavior terrified me, I couldn't help but be in awe of their beauty. Was that what wild horses once looked like? Crazed, untamed? The other Tributes stared at us, some in awe, some curious, while others looked downright evil. My grip on Avis tightened, if that was at all possible, and I gave them a cold glare. To my pleasure, many looked away. All except the would be careers, who eyed the pair of us hungrily. All except Finnick, who wasn't even looking at me, but Avis. His trembling had turned into full on shaking, his distress clearly visible despite his broad smile.

I whispered again in his ear, squeezing his arms with my hands periodically. I knew at this point what was going on, and could only hope he would hold out until we reached the training center. "Avis, hold on, buddy," I encouraged, but my comforts had no effect. The shaking didn't stop until Snows speech was over and we were safely inside. Only seconds after the door closed behind us he collapsed in my arms.

* * *

Hurro, thanks for reading and reviewing! I hope this chapter was pleasant enough. Bit of Finnick, lots of good drama and things. Kinda. I hope to hear from you guys c: And if you get a chance, please read the notice I have on my profile! It pertains to my updating schedule and such.

Lotsa Love,

Calloniel


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

I fought against the urge to panic, instead forcing my limbs to calmly lay him out on the chariot floor with his head in my lap. "Avis," I whispered desperately, grabbing his hands. His body was still, calm, but I preferred him moving. As long as he was moving I knew he was okay.

People started shouting and I heard Haymitch ordering people about in the cacophony. My name was one of the more popular sounds, along with Avis. My hands moved to his cheeks and I kneeled over him, watching his face for any signs of his reawakening. He usually was gone for a few minutes, but I had never seen him under as much stress as right then. It was a miracle he even made it to the training center.

"Wren, give him to me." That was Haymitch, arms reaching towards my brother. I flinched away and shook my head.

"I know what I'm doing."

"We need to get him to a healer."

"No, he doesn't need a-"

Haymitch grabbed my chin and turned my face forcefully towards him, looking me in the eye. "Wren, let him go." When I again refuse, with a rebellious shake of my head, his grip tightened until I knew there would be fingerprints and he growled low in his throat. "_Let go._"

I did, one finger at a time until the men in white could take him away. They laid him on a stretcher and marched him past the other Tributes and into the elevator on the far wall. I watched until the doors slid shut and his body was propelled upwards. A heavy sigh escaped my lungs and I rubbed at my eyes with the palms of my hand, not caring if I messed up my makeup anymore.

Avis had always been a sickly child. Smaller, weaker. The boy couldn't do anything without my help. Always coming down with the flu in winter and suffering from allergies in the spring. Stress made him pass out and he cried at the smallest ounce of pain. And despite knowing exactly what to do in any of the above situations, I worried myself to death over the runt. Despite knowing that he would wake up, I panicked. Because what if, one day, he didnt?

His team, plus Haymitch and Ashby, had all gone with the medics in the elevator. I took a deep breath before turning to my prep team and giving my best smile. "So," I croaked. "How did we do?"

Savera and Eunia gave each other a glance before giving me a grin. "You looked beautiful!" they cried.

"Dangerous," added Lovage, leaning against the Chariot beside me. His sharks grin was a little less intimidating, now that I had faced down a couple thousand of Capitol citizens.

"You looked brave." And that was Cinna, leaning down in front of me. His hand patted my head and my smile faltered. His expression was kind as he helped me to my feet. "Let's go."

His hand was soft and warm in my own as he led me away. My gaze drifted. Focusing seemed hard all of a sudden. Tributes stood by their chariots and watched with varied expressions. I squeezed Cinna's fingers. I was alone with the wolves and they stared with the faces of children. Jaws snapped and eyes glared. All alone. I shook my head and looked forward.

District 2 joined us in the elevator. I stiffened, but retained my neutral expression. I couldn't let them see any weakness or they would use it against me. Weakness was dangerous. Wolves were dangerous. My hands clenched into fists, and Cinna squeezed my captive hand. I felt his eyes on me, and forced myself to loosen my grip. _They can't do anything_, I reasoned, still eyeing the two kids warily. _They have to wait until the arena. Then they can kill me._

It was silent as the doors slid shut, only interrupted by the girl coughing into her palm. "So," she hummed, openly staring at me. She looked stunning in a floor length gown that hugged her body, giving her a lean look. I avoided eye contact as the elevator dinged and slid open. The boy shoved his fellow tribute through the door with a grunt, handling her roughly. She didn't protest at the treatment, making me wonder if she was use to being handled in such a way. Their prep team followed, babbling like a brook about the other tributes outfits. Or could I call them costumes?

In the chaos of their departure, the District 2 boy shot me a vicious look. But not a word was said and the door closed. We zoomed upwards without a sound.

Eventually the elevator opened on our floor and I stumbled inside, not even noticing the finery of the place. My feet led me to the voice of Mayoria and Haymitch. The escort crowed at the sight of me, eager to spread praise for what she would no doubt call a stunning performance, but Haymitch just pointed to his left. I followed his unspoken directions and started down a long hallway. There was a room at the end with its door ajar and I peeked inside.

Avis was awake and had deemed the time fit for fort making. He had draped his sheets over chairs and furniture, anchoring them with books and other heavy objects. I could see the glow of a screen and its faint murmurs. Feeling nostalgic I climbed inside, a grin sliding into its familiar place on my face as I saw my baby brother. His expression was focused, his eyes glued to the screen of a tablet he held in his hands.

"Hey," I called softly. He looked at me, face a glow. I moved in beside him, reminiscing the days when I didn't have to crawl on my stomach to get inside one of our forts. I pulled Avis to my side and shifted the screen to rest atop both of our laps. He didn't say a word, just wrapped himself around me. The screen showed a video of the parade; the line of chariots and the tributes they carried.

After a minute of silence, Avis spoke. "We don't seem like ourselves." He used his pointer finger to double tap the screen, enlarging our image. Another and the video paused. I gaped at the motion, giving Avis a look of surprise.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"Mayoria showed me when I woke up."

I obediently looked at the image on the screen. The first thing I noticed were the horses, of course. Out of the four, one was rearing, two kicking, and another biting. Their wavy manes were frozen in the image, and I could see the whites of their eyes. They looked… wild, untrained. "I wonder what was up with them," I murmured, using a finger to stroke the image. "They were crazy." I squeaked when the image suddenly moved.

Avis made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, refocusing the image. "It's cause I asked them to," he whispered. "I asked and they did it, just like that." I stared at the top of his head, disbelief coating my features. Things like this had happened before - I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Avis once managed to coax a kitten down from a tree with just his voice, and the old Harrisons bastard of a dog, who was meaner than an angry bear, let only Avis pet him. I once saw him scratching the mutts belly. Animals had always seemed to like him. But horses?

I frowned, but didn't respond. I looked back at the screen and took in our images. He looked like a prince, and I told Avis that. The boy blushed and burrowed his face into my side. "You look beautiful, Wren," he mumbled. My smile faded.

"Thank you."

Copying his earlier movement, I managed to resume the video. At my request he started it over from the beginning. I made jokes and sarcastic, witty comments about all the other tributes. "Look at her lips," I told him as I zoomed in on District 4's girl. "I bet those are fish lips."

"Maybe she kisses the fish she catches and that's why."

"It's possible." I blanched at the next chariot. "Holy… look at their hair!" Just looking at the frizzy strands made me want to cry.

Avis shrugged nonchalantly. "They look like you when you wake up in the morning," he teased. I smacked him hard in the stomach, giving a sniff when he moaned and doubled over.

"I do _not_ look like _that_!" I scoffed. "I-" The rest of my defense was cut off as Avis tackled me with a loud battle cry. I screamed, as was appropriate, and we began to roll around on the floor. The poor fort was brought down in our efforts, leaving us struggling to escape the battlefield. I was careful with my dress, hesitant to damage it in any way. Unlike me, Avis had changed out of his clothes and didn't have to worry about it. But I didn't let that stop me from teaching my brother his place, and after a minute or two I had him pinned. "Who is the queen?" I crowed triumphantly.

After struggling unsuccessfully for a few moments Avis conceded, grumbling a barely audible, "Wren is."

"Who is?" I pressed, putting more weight on his back.

"Wren is!" he whined. I rolled off of him and got to my feet, brushing myself off as Avis pouted and rested his head in his hands. "You could let me win at _least_ one…"

My grin widened. "I could, but where is the fun in that?" I ruffled his hair despite his scowl and made to leave. "I think Mayoria said something about dinner. Since you are so terribly ill, would you like me to bring you a plate?" He frowned, but at my conspiratorial wink his face brightened. He nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes please!"

His happy mood was contagious and I found my smile still in place as I trotted into the dining room. Everyone was there, chatting away. At least, they were chatting away until I walked in. I went about gathering food onto a spare plate. I tried making healthy choices, but I still loaded on up on the pudding. When I was satisfied with my own plate, I loaded up a second one with the same choices for Avis (but with more vegetables). Then, balancing a dish in each hand, I made my way back to Avis's room.

"... I think that's the first time I've ever seen her smiling. Genuinely smiling."

"She looks…"

"Beautiful."

My smile grew.

* * *

I licked my hand and ran it through my brothers hair. The elevator had yet to open, and I was abusing the precious moments I had with Avis to make him presentable. Well, _my_ version of presentable. "Look," I told him. "When we get to the stations, you are going to focus on plant identification and snares. Maybe firemaking. These next few days I just want you to focus on survival, okay? I'm going to be at the weapons station." I stopped his sure to be angry protests with a sharp tug on his hair. "I need you to learn this, Avis. It will save your life. It will save _our_ lives." This seemed to placate him at least somewhat. The elevator chimed and we stepped off the lift hand in hand.

It seemed that pretty much all the tributes were there except for us and one other district. District 4, if my counting was correct. They stood in a semi-complete circle. Many of the larger kids looked at us in disdain while others didn't even give us a glance. I squeezed my brothers hand and approached, wondering if all the tributes got these looks or if it was just us.

A woman introduced herself as Atala and pinned pieces of cloth with our district number on our shirts. Avis gave a sharp gasp when she accidentally pricked his skin. A few people laughed, smothering their chuckles with their fists. I gave them my fiercest glare, daring them to continue.

We waited diligently for the last tributes to arrive and I did a quick sweep of the tributes. I had spent a majority of my night looking at my fellow sacrifices. From District 1 we had Cecilia and Flint, both blonde beauties that stood head and shoulders above me. I could tell immediately that they would be troublesome and we should avoid confronting them at all cost. Same with the kids from District 2, named Hyssop and Posy. _At least_, I thought, eyeing the boy warily, _I'm avoiding Hyssop. He's done nothing but glare at me since day one._

The electronics district had sent in some stick thin kids, a girl named Bristel and a boy named Driff. Again, they were taller than me, but I was grateful to have more muscle and weight. If we threw down I knew I could at least take on the girl and possibly the boy. Likewise, the kids from District 5 were not only young but small. The girls name was Tansy while the boy was named Dabble. Both seemed relatively close, though not on the same scale as Avis and I.

District 6 consisted of a thin boy named Grackle and a willowy girl who I thought was named Purnia. Again, I thought that if we got into a fight that I could take them. Maybe. Fennel and Lavender were both from District 7 and I didn't want to even _think_ about them. I'd seen many an unwary tribute go down at the hand of the lumber district and I had no plans to be one of them. Girl or boy, they would be deadly if they got their hands on an axe.

District 8's Meeka and Tobee looked like a gust of wind could knock them over, so I wasn't overly concerned with them. Likewise with District 9, whose tributes were named Sage and Caraway. But I was a bit worried over the boy from District 10. His name was Cray, and he came with a girl named Thyme. Both were tan, long legged, and muscled through hard labor. When he caught me looking at him, he made a rude gesture with his hands.

Tonee and Skye were from District 11 and probably the least healthy looking of all the tributes. Just a glance at their skinny wrists and gaunt faces made me hungry. I could only imagine what they must have lived off of. But simultaneously I wondered, weren't they from agriculture? Shouldn't they get the _most_ food?

The elevator door slid open, exposing the District 4 tributes. I blinked at them curiously. Finnick and Chive were their names, both bronze haired with tan skin. I tried not to watch as Atala pinned their respective numbers on their shirts. _He's a bit taller than me_, I mused. And still obnoxiously beautiful. The boys blue-green gaze surveyed his competition much like mine did. I waited for when his eyes would land on me. What would he think? Would he even take notice? _No_, I thought, as his gaze passed over me. _I'm just another tribute. Get it together, Wren!_

The woman began to explain the tribute center to us and as she spoke I matched locations to her words. There were two obstacle courses, much to my delight. I would definitely have to give those a run through. Years of delivering messages at a sprint in the horribly cluttered Hob back home had given me wings. I was fast and agile. I could do that.

She also pointed out the different weapons stations, which I examined closely. I nudged Avis's shoulder when she mentioned the survival stations. He gave me a glare, but looked interested when she mentioned fire-starting. Then she dismissed us to the training room.

The soon-to-be-careers launched forward, some laughing, some serious, towards the weapons. Other tributes approached slowly, almost hesitantly, to varying stations. I was already heading towards the obstacle course when Avis let go of my hand. "I'm going over there," he said, pointing towards the fire station. I nodded only after judging how long it would take for me to reach him. Just in case. Yes, Atala had said that the tributes were prohibited from fighting with each other, but that didn't mean they wouldn't do so anyway. With my assent he trotted off. I only went to the beginning of the course when I was sure he was alright by himself.

Haymitch had only advised us (well, _me_) to hide my strengths. Don't give anything away. Surprise them. That would be my weapon. But the little girl in me was dancing at the sight of the playground. There were ropes to swing across gaps in the track, a wall to climb over, rotating pipes that could knock you on your back. _I'll just… not go as fast as I could_, I reassured myself. _I could still surprise them. And the gamemakers aren't even here yet._

Caraway from District 9 seemed to have the same thought process I did. He stood in front of a small pillar, about hip height. I stepped up behind him. After a moment he slapped his hand down on the red button, a timer, that he had been staring at. Numbers flashed up into the air, red and blinking.

_0:00:01_

The boy started running, boots stomping up the ramp. I watched, trying not to feel too amused as he floundered through the course. It took him roughly 11 minutes to make it to the end and after slapping the timer once more fell on his face. _Not very impressive_, I mused. _I could do better_. I stepped up to the base of the ramp and took a minute to go through the different obstacles again in my mind. Up the ramp to a small wall, jump over the wall, swing by a rope over a gap, walk another gap via narrow beam, dodge swinging pipes, down a ramp to go up another, etcetera. Difficult, but manageable. With a small smile, I slammed my hand down on the timer.

_0:00:01_

Then I was running somewhere else.

"_Wren," Margery called, needles flashing as she knitted away in her small rocking chair. I looked up from my school book, frowning. Seeing that she had my attention, the heavily pregnant woman motioned with a finger. I obediently set down my work and went to her side. With a final click she handed me the fresh knitted sweater. "Take that to Mr. Barnes, would you, dear? Tell him its for their little boy, free of charge," she said softly, rubbing her own distended belly with a smile. _

_The fabric was soft on my grubby fingertips, a quality that I was only vaguely familiar with from my mother's old clothes. I folded it gingerly and held it loosely in my small fist, feeling as though to damage the cloth would be a tremendous insult. I gave her an amiable nod and took off through the dimly lit hob._

_The hob was a filthy place, being an old coal warehouse. The black dust, remnants from the 'good ol' days', had settled on every available surface like rain. Since finding a new way to transport coal, the building had been abandoned until it was gradually overtaken by the hob to be used as a makeshift black market. Every corner was filled with people trying to sell their wares, creating a messy, borderline dangerous place to be caught unaware. Men carried beams and boxes through the barely there space between trading stalls. _

_I leaped over a vacant stand, palm scraping the old wood and leaving a vague imprint of a child sized hand. My shoes slapped the ground as I expertly landed, bending my knees and pushing off into the crowd. I twisted around wayward figures, wincing when they stepped on my feet or elbowed my body. Hands went over my head. Things were blurred but simultaneously clear. A man growled at me as I darted between his legs, sweater clutched to my chest and a determined expression on my face. _

_When the way got too crowded I crawled onto a stand, running along them with shouts of 'sorry' or 'excuse me'. I paused only to scope the crowd for Mr. Barnes. From what I could recall, he was a tall but hunched figure with tobacco stained fingers and a rattle when he talked. He sold cigarettes and liquor to Peacekeepers in exchange for favors and a blind eye to any shady dealings. I'd seen Mr. Everdeen trading some of his catches with him once for a pipe._

"_Hey! Watch it!" someone cried. I gave a yelp as a metal beam went swinging towards my face-_

I bent backwards, arms outstretched to keep my balance as the pole went over my head, unlike my younger self who went home with one hell of a black eye. I came back up only to jump up as another swung for my legs. Another went for my head and I rolled, coming to the edge of the last platform. I jumped the gap to land with a _thump_, taking another two steps to press down on the red button. It projected my time into the air in front of me.

_06:53:18_

I had run through the course in half the time it had taken the kid from District 9. A vicious smile wormed its way onto my face. I could do this. If I couldn't fight the other kids, then I could outrun them. I could _do_ it.

Better yet, the Gamemakers weren't even there yet. I could still impress them with this if I needed to. No more obstacle running until then - I needed a weapon now. I hopped down the steps with hope in my chest and a skip in my step. I had three days to either become an amateur at a lot of weapons or possibly lethal with one. After a moment of debate I decided on the latter. But what weapon?

_Definitely a blade_, I thought as I joined the District 1 and District 2 pair at the knife throwing stations. The blades flew faster than the human eye could follow, landing within the first two rings of the target with deadly accuracy. Seeing me watching, Flint, the District 1 boy, gave a harsh twist and threw a serrated blade under his arm. It landed with a sickening _thunk_. Bullseye. My confidence plummeted. What good was running away if the blade went faster than you could?

_No good_, I thought, turning to check on Avis. He was at the plant identification station with the girl from District 11. To my surprise, she was pointing out plants to him, teaching alongside the man who ran the station. I was hesitant. What if she was giving him wrong information? Mixing up the poisons and antidotes? If I was completely honest with myself, that was what I would have done. Being from a District where they lived among plants, she must have known a lot about them. And Avis was so easy to lead on.

I shook my head before I could do something stupid. I trusted Avis, and needed to step back. He had his job and I had mine. If the would-be careers had been over there than the tiny little scrap of a tribute, then I would have had something to say. Besides, I don't think the man who ran the station would let her do something like that. I turned on my heel and headed to another weapons station, slapping my cheeks. We both had things to do. I needed to focus.

The man at the station I stopped at was running a rock down the length of a blade when I approached. Only a pause in his rhythm was his acknowledgement of my presence. I picked at the blades laid out on the table carefully. One ornate dagger caught my eye and I lifted it up for inspection.

"Pick a different one."

I blinked in the direction of the voice, which I assumed belonged to the trainer, but he was focused on his blade. However, I wasn't one for being a rebel, and assumed that if he told me to pick another weapon then he had a reason to. My hand went to a thick blade that was slightly curved with a wide grip. Again, the trainer shook his head. I wondered how he could see me if he didn't look up.

At this point I had people watching me with either disdain or amusement at my plight. Mainly, a smug looking District 4 boy. He must have thought he was so clever, sneaking glances as he fiddled with the paints at the camouflage station next door.

This time I picked up a blade that lay alone at the far end of the table. It was about two feet long with a handle that seemed like it belonged on the end of a dagger rather than a sword. The blade was straight the first few inches before curving like a sickle with a sharp convex edge. At the end of the blade was a sort of hook. I frowned, curious as to why it was the outside edge that was sharpened while the other dull. It reminded me of a tool I had seen farmers use in the videos from school.

"The khopesh." He finally seemed to approve of my weapon choice. I turned to the man who ran the station. My first reaction was to flinch. His face had been modified in some way, I was sure, because it was impossible for eyes to be that large and… well, _purple_. The rest of his face was covered in a navy blue tattoo that spiraled over his temples and ran in lines down his cheeks. His lips were pierced with a multitude of silver rings. He watched me with an air of curiosity before motioning for me to approach with a finger. Feeling nostalgic, I obeyed, weapon still in my grip.

He began to instruct me without a pause, moving my body with calloused hands into the 'proper' position to wield the so-called khopesh. "It's a slashing weapon, not a stabbing weapon," was the only thing he said to me as he adjusted my stance. He had me swing at a dummy until lunch, at which point my arm felt like it would drop off at the slightest provocation. I debated working through the meal but left the khopesh at the table to join Avis where he waited at the knots station. All the tributes were led to a dining room that was surrounded by carts covered in food.

Me and Avis shared a look before racing to a cart laden with deserts. Mainly pudding. We ignored the looks of the Tributes surprised by our behavior in favor of shoving eachother to get to the best of the treats.

"Hey! I wanted that piece!"

"Well, you should have grabbed it faster."

"_Wren_," Avis whined. I blew a raspberry and laughed as he pouted. I ruffled his hair with the hand that wasn't bowed down by a plate full of treats. "C'mon, let's go - oh, do I smell chicken?"

We loaded ourselves up with all sorts of food and adopted a table for ourselves. When the loners from other Districts passed by we offered them a seat. They all always declined.

And that was what happened for three days. Woke up, ate breakfast with Haymitch and Mayoria. I worked with the trainer while Avis worked on his survival skills. At lunch we would pretend that we weren't preparing for the arena we could die in but at home. Then we would go back to work. Training, studying. By the night of the second day I could decapitate a dummy (admittedly, one that wasn't moving) while Avis could name almost every plant they put in front of him. At night we ate dinner, discussed arena tactics with the slightly more sober Haymitch and occasionally etiquette with Mayoria. Then we went to bed.

It was borderline routine except for the third and final day of training. Coincidentally, it was the first time I spoke to one Finnick Odair. I was slashing lazily at a hologram. I was constantly reminded that I was barely a novice, that I would probably be surviving on dumb luck. But luck was all I needed. For the majority of the morning I had stolen one of the hologram rooms and fought against an imaginary opponent. I won an average of four out of ten times. However, I always left my opponent lethally injured before going down. I was actually quite proud of myself.

The hologram came at me with a knife. I rolled out of the way, careful not to cut myself on my own weapon, swinging the blade out as I came up to one knee. Fake blood spurted through the air as he collapsed, leg severed at the knee. _Well_, I mused, _mostly severed_. The bone was, for the most part, intact, but he was done. I had definitely sliced up an artery somewhere along with all that muscle. He wouldn't be getting up. At least, that was what I thought until he whipped around and launched his dagger at me. There was a ring as the knife hit my chest and the hologram faded.

"Nice shot."

I whirled around, khopesh held tightly in my hand. Finnick leaned against the wall, grinning at me with white teeth and a twinkle in his eye. He was dressed similarly to all the other tributes - shirt, pants, boots, and the number four pinned to his clothes. _Still obnoxiously attractive_, I noted almost sourly. "Um… thanks?" I mumbled awkwardly.

His grin turned into a smirk. "I was talking about the hologram."

… Oh. What was I supposed to say to that? When no answer came to mind I shrugged and walked back to the wall he leaned against. I ignored him, attention on the screen that popped up on my approach. With my finger I brought up the settings and with a flick of my wrist reset the whole thing. The challenge restarted - man with a knife. Not the most difficult of settings, but it was good practice for a novice like me. His actions and reactions varied every time. I let my weapon hang at my side, waiting for him to make the first move as his form slowly built up.

He did, knife swinging in a wide arc. I ducked and darted into the gap he had created, swiping my sword. A long slash appeared on his chest and I wasted no time in adding another slash to his side. But his knife descended towards my skull and I tripped backwards with a yelp. My arm raised to block the attack but there was no need. A dagger hit the hologram in the throat, burying itself to the hilt, causing the man's image to crumble into nothing. I looked to the wall.

Finnick twirled a copy of the knife lazily, catching my eye and grinning like the cat that caught the canary. "Oh, were you going to get that? So sorry." With a wink, he left me alone in the room.

I sat on the floor for a little while, a bit struck. _Damn_, I thought. Then I frowned. _Show off._

* * *

Hurro, lovely readers ~

Thanks to everyone who reviewed and favorited, I really appreciate it! This is probably the only story were I won't really care if you guys review... hm. I mean, it helps, obviously, but this is a story that I really love so I'll probably just post it anyway. Anywho, Finnick is in here! Yay! And knife things! Panic attacks! Drama! It only gets worse.

Please, let me know what you think!

Lotsa Love,

Calloniel


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